


Wake Me Up (Before You Go Go)

by DovahDoes



Series: A Little Amenadan AU [1]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, Awkward Conversations, Chapter 2 features:, GrudginglyStillThere!Dan, Humor, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, It's just the, Lukewarm Caffeinated Beverages, M/M, Morning After, Nothing Sexy Happens here, Oop, Perplexed!Dan, Pre-Relationship, Smug!Maze, The rating is mostly for a bit of Language, TryingtoActuallyHaveaTalk!Amenadiel, a Kit-Cat Clock, and A Super Comfy Bed, anyway, featuring:, or at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-12 10:24:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11159949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DovahDoes/pseuds/DovahDoes
Summary: "Seeing his genuine irritation, Mazikeen decides to relent a little bit, and dials down her gleeful smirk to an even 6 out of 10 before offering the absolute barest bit of information.'I mean…wedidn’t sleep together, Hangover, but I sure had a great time watchingyou twodo so.'  She jerks her chin up in indication to something behind Dan’s back...."* * *That is, Dan wakes up in a weird bed and would like to know What Is Happening Now and What Happened Last Night.[[ Now featuring Chapter 2! o: ]]





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. There are birds chirping outside my window. I have work in 4 hours. #OOPS
> 
> Anyhoot, here ya go! I have never written in this fandom, and am really still sort of a new writer, so hope I did alright? Love these two guys a whole bunch and would like it a lot if they also loved each other. ;p

 

Dan Espinoza would like to say that his years of work on the police force have honed his senses and reflexes to the very highest levels of awareness, and that he instantly takes stock of his surroundings the moment he first achieves consciousness.  The truth, however, is that he is never at his best in the earliest hours of the day; a morning person he is not.

 

And that’s on a good day.

 

Today, he has just had the distinct displeasure of waking up in an unfamiliar bedroom— one with tons of sun, like what the fuck levels. (What, had all the blinds fallen off?  Geez.)

 

He groans and buries his face into the pillow at his front, huffing out an irritated breath when a stray feather tickles at his nose before it flutters away, elsewhere.  Soon thereafter, though, he feels his body grow sleep-heavy again, a welcome relief from the distant— but constant— pulsing in the back of his head that indicates that alcohol very likely played a part in his current state and situation.

 

A muted, digitized sort of click half-registers as out of place, but his single-minded determination to travel back to the Land of Nod far outweighs the idea of devoting deep thought to any invasive, outside auditory stimulus.

 

Except that it happens again.

 

And again.

 

 _And again_ , unbelievably.

 

After the fifth instance of the obnoxious, persistent interruption of his continued sleep cycle, the weary human resignedly wrests open the single eye with a sightline over top of the pillow that the other half of his face is mashed into, and attempts to focus on whatever the fuck is directly in front of him.

 

First, reflexively, he is forced to blink, as the above-mentioned dazzlingly bright, near-direct sunlight spears straight through his retinas and right to the exact spot where his minor headache has been patiently, insidiously lurking.

 

“Nnnghh, ffuuuckk,” he groans piteously into cottony cloud-like softness, voice absolutely torn to shreds and more than half-gone.

 

His vision begins to clear a bit as the light registers less as ‘blinding’ and closer to ‘illuminating’ with each passing moment.

 

For the past minute he’s been reassuring himself that surely, what is before him cannot actually be reality.  Because the camera on most smartphones do not operate themselves, but then again, the person operating this particular smartphone’s camera, impossibly, seems to look exactly like—

 

“Maze?”

 

He squints at the familiar figure sitting curled up in a large armchair next to a set of half-open closet doors. What the hell…

 

The sound of a camera app’s shutter going off again has him rapidly struggling to catch up to what exactly is going on, and the effort starts to feel more dire when Maze’s Cheshire Cat grin widens even further before she actually starts giggling. (Which, by the way, how does someone make even _giggling_ sound menacing?)

 

The bedraggled man’s eyes slightly widen as alarm begins to creep up and suffuse his entire body with a good dose of dread.  Maze laughing like that— and it has indeed graduated into what is almost a full on cackle, now— does not bode well for him. (And on that note— Jesus fucking Christ— why is she only wearing a leather-y set of negligee pieces, each rife with spikes and bolts and buckles?  It’s all very— well, _kinky_.)

 

“Maze,” he cautiously ventures, pushing himself up on one elbow, “what the hell is going on?  What happened?  Did we— did we sleep together?”

 

For a moment, she gazes at him almost pityingly, and then abruptly clutches her middle and laughs so hard that she actually falls over in place.  And for whatever odd reason, this sets Dan at a bit of ease, and he just ends up fuming, feeling his cheeks and the very tips of his ears start to prickle with heat in acute embarrassment.

 

 _Fuck this_ , he says to himself, now more than ready to scuttle off back to his own place, beyond unwilling to deal with whatever chaotic mess Maze must have gotten him into, last night.

 

Get up to slightly illicit, vengeance-seeking activities for the good of your ex-wife with a terrifyingly combat competent bartender-slash-mercenary, and they take all kinds of liberties to prank you in increasingly unfunny ways.  Yeah.  No.  Not today: it’s his day off, and he is _not_ going to waste it frowning at a smug face all morning.  (He gets enough of that all week, when Lucifer hangs around the station, day after day.)

 

Seeing his genuine irritation, Mazikeen decides to relent a little bit, and dials down her gleeful smirk to an even 6 out of 10 before offering the absolute barest bit of information.

 

“I mean… _we_ didn’t sleep together, Hangover, but I sure had a great time watching _you two_ do so.”  She jerks her chin up in indication to something behind Dan’s back.  “Well, _I_ watched and got to do a little _enforced directing_ of the events.” Her smile widens, cat-like and smug once more as she raises a scarred brow.

 

Oh God.   _Who_ —?

 

There is the rustling of soft, cottony sheets behind him, and the susurrate sound of a particularly lengthy exhalation— like a sleepy sort of sigh.

 

God _damnit_ , if he had slept with Charlotte Richards again, he is going to have to have a Conversation with Maze— she _knows_ exactly how guilty and even almost _dirty_ he feels about that whole weird affair.

 

The decade plus veteran of law enforcement steels himself to actually take a peek behind himself, but first sends a particularly surly, chalcedony-hued glare at the endlessly bemused woman sprawled in her chosen "throne", just a few meters away.

 

With a single, prolonged indrawn breath, Dan gingerly rolls over, slightly, propping himself up on his other elbow as well, and slowly turns his head to glance over his right shoulder. He's not sure if he’s turning red or losing all the colour in his face, once he glimpses his bedmate.

 

It’s _definitely_ not Charlotte Richards, but it’s really not too far off, since it’s—

 

“ _Amenadiel?_ ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then Amenadiel wakes up, and Maze leaves, and he and Dan have an awkward breakfast where they Talk, and they set out on a weird journey toward being the most adorable couple I could imagine on this show, basically. ♡
> 
> (Also, very very vaguely implied here is that those are feathers from Amenadiel's wings. (What? I have ~ i d e a s ~ for this 'verse!)  
> *
> 
> Kudos and comments are love: feel free to leave me some, kind readers~. (ღˇ◡ˇ)~♥


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan now knows What Happened Last Night (and as it turns out, it was a damn good time). Except that without the buffer of Maze, he and Amenadiel might _actually_ have to talk, now, in the glaring light of day.
> 
> Damn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How does one write a chaptered fic? Should I have just made this chapter a new, separate work?? Did this even need to be posted??? Questions for the ages. I will think on these questions as I stroke my chin and frown in thought.

At 11:23 A.M. on a typically pleasant LA morning, a passing car blaring a catchy pop tune breaks a profoundly lengthy stretch of awkward silence.

 

_-ake me up,_

_Before you go g—_

 

The abrupt **,** disruptive sound quickly distorts and fades away as the vehicle travels out of earshot.

 

Dan’s eyes trace absently over the intricate crown molding that rings the ceiling of the room connected to this one; it’s a _really_ nice living room, he thinks to himself, mildly.  Not as nice as being able to get out of this painfully quiet morning-after mess of a ‘breakfast talk’ (and the comically oversized zip-up hoodie he’s been forced to borrow in lieu of his _still_ unaccounted-for clothing from yesterday).

 

He hasn’t done a ‘walk of shame’ since before he’d met Chloe, but damn, he wishes he’d just taken one, this morning, before his bedmate had woken up.

 

A muted clink of porcelain meeting wood draws his attention from the room he has been mindlessly observing over the other man’s shoulder.  The dark eyes peering at him expectantly coupled with the earnest expression directed his way make it pretty obvious he must have missed a question, just now.

 

Shit.

 

“I, uh.  Sorry, I _totally_ missed whatever you just said there, man,” he says sheepishly, wincing at his mildly mortifying faux pas.  Some conversation _this_ is turning out to be.

 

Across the short expanse of a circular dining table, Amenadiel tilts his gaze sideways and momentarily rolls his head back on his neck, exhaling gustily, looking pretty tired, himself.  When he then rights himself and scoots his seat forward a bit, Dan’s traitorous eyes are drawn down to the impressive muscles on display as the other male rests his elbows on the polished surface between them.

 

“Detective,” he begins, before his tone gentles and he tries again. “ _Dan_ , I, uh.  I know you probably have some _questions_ about last night.  Especially now that some of the, the— _memories_ have started coming back to you.”

 

And _nope_.  Nope, nope, nope, _no way_.  He had grudgingly told Maze he would entertain a short ‘chat’ with the guy, earlier, before she’d gleefully departed for parts unknown, but the cavalcade of absolutely mind-bending shit he half-recalls from the previous night is nowhere near any kind of subject he feels like touching.

 

Much to his chagrin, his resolute companion takes no notice of his frown, and instead barrels forward, seemingly unconcerned.

 

“At, uh.  At one point— when I was achieving what I believe to have been my second orgasm of the evening,” (and oh my _God_ , who _talks_ like this, Dan wonders to himself) “and just after you had what may have been a third or fourth— it may have looked like there were some _things_ silhouetted behind me _._   That was no trick of the light or visual illusion, Det— _Dan._ ”

 

The embarrassed heat in his face comes up so suddenly that the rather reserved law enforcement officer almost completely misses the allusion to the two hyper-realistic extra appendages that he has almost completely managed to convince himself were just figments of an alcohol-fueled, post-orgasmic hallucination.  As it is, he lowers the warm mug that he has been fiddling with to the table, thankful he had not been taking a sip of anything a moment ago, as it surely would have ended up trapped in his windpipe (or maybe halfway up his nose) when his breath had involuntarily caught for a moment, just now.

 

Running a sleeve-covered hand up and over one side of his face for several beats, he looks upward at the ceiling for a second as if in supplication, before meeting those deep, earth-toned eyes across from him, again.

 

“Look, Amenadiel, I _really_ appreciate the coffee and all, but I should probably get going.  I have to, uh, work on some things.  For a _case_.  Elsewhere, you know.  So…” he trails off, leadingly.

 

Those stately features that have been seemingly taking measure of him this entire time have shifted into a rather unimpressed look, no doubt in response to his positively anemic sounding excuse.  Then, a somewhat enigmatic grin pulls up the corner of lush lips: the very same ones Dan can still recall pressing hotly against the ultra-sensitive spot at the base of his neck, just slightly off to the left side, and _shit_ — he is _not_ supposed to be fondly recalling the events from last night!

 

Instead, he should be escaping out the damn front door, right now.  (It’s _right there_ , too, he internally bemoans, gaze darting over, furtively— just a few dozen steps into the entryway connecting to the kitchen in which they currently sit.)  The sound of an increasingly familiar, rich voice reclaims his attention, almost immediately.

 

“ _Right_ ,” said voice deadpans.  “I know it’s your day off, thanks to Maze, and _also_ due to your overjoyed, repeated exclamations to that effect while you imbibed several drinks at the bar, last night.  So, we are _going_ to talk about this before you slip even farther into denial about any number of relevant matters.”

 

The invariably mysterious sibling to Lucifer Morningstar leans back in his seat and looks a bit confused, suddenly.

 

“Did you not enjoy yourself, last night?  I was given to understand that providing one’s partner with equal or greater pleasure than your own is excellent sexual etiquette, and you had little compunction letting me know that you were enjoying yourself.  _A lot_.  At least until the last 10 or so minutes, when you were seemingly so overcome with sensation, you ceased being able to spea--”

 

“ _Whoah_!  Okay, okay.  Alright, man!  Let’s talk.  We are _talking,_ now, okay?  Just— just _stop_ with the debrief on our tumble in the sheets, alright?  Geez.  My face is gonna melt off if it gets any redder!  Ugh.”

 

Dan notices that the expression being directed his way hasn’t really changed all that much, and he sighs through his nose before quietly making the prompted admission.

 

“Fine.  _Yes,_ I enjoyed myself last night.  Happy now?” he huffs, resignedly, perilously close to transitioning straight from scowling and directly into pouting.

 

Of course, annoyingly enough, the guy _does_ look happy.  _Ugh._

 

Grudgingly, he concludes that it might be best to just bite the bullet and get everything smoothed out between them, so he can get back to living his mundane, everyday life, full of lonely nights spent at home and a distinct lack of supernaturally-tinted sexual encounters.  (Well, it’s generally lacking in _any_ sexual encounters, supernatural or otherwise, really, to be honest.)

 

“Okay.  So, yeah.  We, uh, slept together, last night.  That was— was pretty great.  So, thanks?”  Wow. Way to go, Espinoza— _really_ keeping the awkwardness at bay.  “And at a few points, things got weird.  It’s pretty telling that the _least_ weird part is the fact that I, uh, was able to _go_ so many times in one night, you know?  …you probably don’t: seems like you’re in peak condition, physica— _right_.”

 

He shakes himself, mentally, veering back on course.

 

“ _Anyway_ , I’m pretty sure that at one point, you started to actually _glow_ for a few seconds, and I would totally say that’s a one-off, but maybe ten minutes later, I think you _literally_ froze time around us?  Except for Maze— which _damnit_ ,” he mutters, irked at her typical lack of shame and disregard for boundaries, “I think she took _pictures_ of us last night.”

 

His nerves rise unbidden in him as he continues into the part that feels especially dicey for him to address.  Anxious energy manifests itself in his idly pinching at arbitrary seams on the butter-soft fabric of the worn-in, borrowed hoodie he is still sporting.

 

“Right.  You mentioned that the last few minutes I was, um, kind of _incoherent_?  Yeah, I kind of maybe saw through to your… true form, or whatever that was, a few times?  So _that_ was a bit overwhelming.  _Also_ , I was getting fucked to within an inch of my life, too, so that was mostly the cause, admittedly.”

 

The bed-rumpled younger man had chuckled and looked down at his hands to avoid the oddness of having to maintain eye contact when he’d voiced the last phrase, but he soon glances back up with a sober expression.

 

“My mom, she used to tell me these stories when I was a kid: parables and fables and miracles and everything.  About all these different biblical figures.   And she—.   Well, are _you_ —?” he stumbles, unsure exactly of how to move forward.   “Just.  At the— _end_.  I saw, um.   When you were over me, when you came, there were— Jesus _Christ_ — _you had fucking **wings** , man!_”

 

His half-hysterical exclamation seems to ring in the small room they occupy, and in the ensuing silence, Dan self-consciously coughs, shifting in his chair, bewildered gaze turning beseeching as he looks for some sort of confirmation.

 

“…right?”

 

For several long moments, Amenadiel seems to be looking straight through him and into some part of himself that is beyond his own comprehension; the sunlight coming from a room over shines more brightly for a second behind him, too (unless it’s just that same, weird glow he’d seen last night).  Time seems as if it balances, tremulously, on a pin and the syncopated ticking of the vintage, cat-clock to one side goes strangely silent.

 

Then he blinks and everything is exactly as it was before those weird couple of seconds, and the other man is looking at him with a mixture of intrigue and a deliberately restrained sort of anticipation.

 

“Daniel,” he says, slowly, each word assigned a palpable amount of weight “exactly how much _do_ you know about the Judeo-Christian tale of the fall of Lucifer?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still have no idea what I'm doing. (Possibly because I write things in this AU when I am deliriously tired.)
> 
> So. Basically, the implication that ~ The Wings ~ occurred while they had their fun little romp is no longer _just_ an implication. ;p Canonically, around this point, Amenadiel's powers were still aaalll fucked up, yes. Luckily, there are Circumstances in the 'verse that precipitate their return. (It's Dan. Dan is the circumstance.)
> 
> Eventually/next time around, it's pretty likely that this pairing will be an _actual_ pairing, and not just pre-relationship. (I'm pretty pumped for that, too, as other characters meeting/reacting to the couple is one of the main reasons I started writing this series in the first place. Hahaha.)
> 
> (As always, un-beta'd, so any spelling/grammar flubs are on me.)  
> *
> 
> Come check out [my writing blog](https://dovahdoeswrite.tumblr.com/), where I post early fic snippets and keep you updated on what i'm working on in what fandoms!
> 
> Kudos and comments are love: feel free to leave me some, kind readers~. (ღˇ◡ˇ)~♥


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